


Up Against a Wall

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend in need is a partner indeed!  The longer version of Against a Wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Against a Wall

"Illya!" Damn, I hated it when he got like this. Nothing got my partner going faster than an Innocent gone bad. Of course, having said Innocent attempt to literally stab you in the back during sex, that would annoy me as well.

I came back to Illya's apartment to find said Innocent unconscious and Illya leaving a blood trail.

They say that you enter a new dimension when the adrenaline kicks in and you just react to something. I somehow managed to get Illya locked into the bathroom before our retrieval squad showed up. This is when it's nice to have an organization like UNCLE at your back. Had it been a regular ambulance, there would have been questions, but our guys just tucked her away, making sure she was properly sedated and prepared her for transport. If they were concerned about the noises coming from the bathroom, they gave no outward sign, but they were certainly much more expedient when Illya started pounding on the door and shouting some pretty vulgar threats to me in Russian.

It was only after they were safely out of the way with their package that I ventured back towards the bathroom and stood just outside, listening. When I was sure Illya wasn't lurking on the other side of the door, I unjammed it and went inside.

The Innocent had made two mistakes. She didn't understand human anatomy and she underestimated Illya. You never try to stab someone in the back through their shoulder blade and Illya had punched her halfway back to Bismarck probably before she even registered anything. For some reason, she didn't think he'd defend himself against a woman and that had cost her a broken jaw at least. And she got off lucky. If she'd been a guy, Illya wouldn't have stopped there.

The bathroom looked like a war zone. Trapped inside, Illya had taken his anger out on whatever he could get his hands on. Most of the surfaces were blood smeared, gratis the still oozing gash he had down one shoulder blade. It wasn't particularly dangerous, but it was messy. I don't often see Illya that mad.

Now came the task of trying to calm him down so I could get close enough to patch him up. Even I had to be careful. When I was growing up, we had this old tom cat. He was a legend when it came to cat fights, but one day, he crossed the line. The fur had been flying and my dad stepped in to break it up and that old tom cat ripped into him like nobody's business. He shredded my dad's pants and his leg along with them. He and the cat never really saw things eye-to-eye after that. And the look in that tom cat's eyes was exactly what I was seeing in Illya's – not fight or flight, just fight.

"Leave me alone, Napoleon!"

"Not likely!" He'd pulled on a pair of pants, but he was still shirtless. The blood running down his spine made the seat of his pants look slick wet. His chest was heaving with anger. He hated to be made mortal, if even for only a second. "Let me help you!"

"You can't!" I didn't even want to think of what that admission cost him. Up to the knife welding, I knew very well what was happening. It was a usual routine for us, check in, then go find an obliging bed partner and fuck the night away. It helped make us remember that we could feel; that we needed to feel in order to do our job. Take that away and we are just like the enemy we fight against.

I'd actually struck out tonight and had returned home to a hand job and a couple of good belts of scotch. It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was enough of a stop gap to let me think straight.

As the night had progressed, I got this nagging feeling that something was wrong, something the innocent had said or did niggled at me and I finally decided to follow up with Illya.

I had been surprised to find her unconscious on the floor, a knife not far from her body and Illya taking his frustrations out by punching out his furniture. It had taken a bit to get the story out of him, but trying to stab a man during intercourse, well, that was just wrong.

I understood the frustration and humiliation, nerves awash in testosterone and desperate for release, perhaps more than he could ever realize. I stood by, day after day, watching women flirt with him, flirting with him myself, but to no avail. Illya never saw that aspect of me. Apparently I was too convincing at playing the womanizing gadabout. I'd been head over heels in lust with my partner for months and he didn't have a clue.

I had him trapped in the bathroom now, his back literally to the wall. Standing before him I studied him quietly, smiling as gently as I could to calm him. "Yes, I think I can."

I reached out and touched his face, watching his eyes widen - they really are lovely eyes - and my mouth followed my fingers. I waited to see if he would lash out, but he didn't.

His mouth opened to mine when my tongue asked for entrance and the only protest he made when I eased my hand into his pants was a groan. He was rock hard, but no more so than I was. I'd wanted him for so long that I was afraid to pause for even a moment. I didn't think, I didn't analyze, I simply reacted.

I unzipped my own pants, letting my penis tumble free and caught both of them in one handful. I thrust and he groaned again, his head tipping back to rest against the wall. Mmm, Illya's neck, I took my time with it, licking and biting as my movements grew harder, more demanding with each rock of my hips, grinding myself against him until I felt rather than heard him cry out, felt him pulsating against me as my fist grew slick with his semen. I followed a breath later and let my hand still.

Illya's chest was still heaving, but for an entirely different reason now.

"Better?" I whispered into his nearest ear and felt him nod. "Enough or more?"

We made a mess of that wall – blood just doesn't come out of plaster easily. But it wasn't half the mess we made of his bed. Taking Illya, feeling him beneath me, so trusting and willing, I made myself a mental note to send some flowers to that poor Innocent languishing in Medical, but considering the way Illya is bucking and groaning beneath me, it'll be later, much later…


End file.
